"Six for me—all Christmas-cards—hurrah, hurrah! Three for you, Aunt Jo; two for you, Robert; none for you, Mr. Armstrong; none for you, Hal."
It is Christmas-time, nearly two years since the Lefroys have left Nutsgrove. The boys are spending the festive season at Leamington. Mr. Armstrong has also reluctantly accepted Miles Darcy's pressing invitation, for these meetings are painful to him. Although his lost wife's name is never mentioned, yet there is always a suggestion of her existence in the old lady's depressed flurried manner, and in her anxiety to propitiate him and seem at ease in his presence; moreover, Lottie, who has cast aside all her delicacy and is growing up a plump rosy-cheeked lass, at times is so like her unfortunate sister that he turns away his eyes from her with a sense of sore repugnance.
"Two letters for me, Goggles? Then hand them over at once."
"Here they are, Bob. One of them is a bill, and the other is from foreign parts. What a lot of postmarks it has, to be sure! Whom is it from, Bob?"
He takes up the letter carelessly, then drops it with a quick exclamation.
Miss Darcy, who is seated beside him at the breakfast-table, turns suddenly. Her eyes fall on the upturned address; she springs to her feet with a cry.
"At last—at last! Quick, Robert, quick—open it, my boy!"
But Robert rises deliberately, his face white and set, walks over to the fire, and thrusts the unopened letter into the blazing coal. His aunt stares for a second paralyzed, then rushes forward to snatch it out; but she is stopped by Robert, whose strong young arms pinion hers powerless to her side. She struggles fiercely, and then appeals to Armstrong, who is staring in much astonishment at the extraordinary scene.